Page 70 of Shattered Echoes

"Got what you need?" the dealer asks, his voice a low rasp.

"Yeah," I reply, my voice hollow. "How much?"

The transaction is quick and impersonal. I hand over the money, and the dealer slips a small bag of pills into my hand.

What am I doing?

The question feels distant, the answer irrelevant. With the pills tucked safely in my pocket, I head towards the nearest bar. It’s dimly lit, the air thick with smoke, and the inside smells of cheap alcohol. The patrons are a mix of lost souls and hardened regulars, each nursing their own demons.

Just like me.

I slide onto a stool at the bar and order a drink. The first sip burns my throat, but it dulls the edge of my pain. I order another, then another, the alcohol blurring the edges of my anguish.

Just keep drinking. Don't think. Just drink, I try to convince myself.

I take the first pill, washing it down with a swig of whiskey. The effect is almost immediate, a numbing sensation spreading through my body. The world around me fades into a haze, blurring into weird shapes and colors.

I drink more, the room spinning as the substances take hold. The faces around me turn into squiggles of color, voices merging into an indistinct hum. I feel detached from reality, floating in a sea of intoxication.

This is what I needed.

I don’t want to think right now, but even in my stupor, the pain remains a constant, gnawing presence.

It's not enough.

I open the bag and take another pill. The numbness intensifies, but so does the darkness inside me.

Why won't it stop?

I drink until I can't remember why I started. The night wears on, each moment a blur as I drown myself in alcohol and pills. Despite my efforts to escape, the darkness inside me only grows.

FUCK! The pain is relentless. I take another drink, the liquid still scorching my throat, but it's not enough to burn away the guilt and sorrow.

I don't deserve to feel better. This is my punishment.

My head droops, my vision going blank as I struggle to stay upright. The bar, the people, the noise—they are all distant. My consciousness is slipping away.

Maybe if I take one more...

I reach for another pill, my movements slow and uncoordinated. But as I take it, I know deep down that no amount of pills or alcohol will erase the pain. The darkness is a part of me now.

Why can’t I escape?

I close my eyes to hide from my shame.

I'm sorry, Colette. A single tear slips down my cheek. I'm so sorry.

And then, mercifully, the numbness overtakes me, and I drift into oblivion, the night swallowing me whole.

23

Colette

Leo’s footsteps thunder across the hardwood floor, each step reverberating through the oppressive silence of the mansion. He clenches his jaw, tightening and loosening his fists at his sides as if he’s ready to punch something, or someone.

Me, most likely. Although, I know he would never hit a woman.

His eyes are dark, almost black with fury. Every few seconds, they flick toward me, making me shrink back into the plush cushions of the couch.

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